


you breathe in when i exhale

by raregoose



Series: we'll find ways to fill the empty [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Patrik falls in love too easily, Pining, Pov-quel, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 09:21:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17464793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raregoose/pseuds/raregoose
Summary: Electricity skated over Patrik’s skin, sharp and prickly and painful. Patrik was far too familiar with the feeling, too hot and hard. He’d always set fires everywhere he’d gone.But he turned and looked at Nikolaj, and he knew that Nikolaj was all different. Nikolaj was the cool surface of a lake, the crash of ocean waves. Nikolaj, he hoped, was fireproof.(This isfor now we're two sparks, from Patrik's point of view! Both can be read without having read the other, but the most complete experience would be reading both!)





	you breathe in when i exhale

**Author's Note:**

> I always really wanted to share Patrik's point of view of this story, because one of the big running motifs in the story is the electricity/water dichotomy, and because I felt like the full on pining the whole time would be very different from Nikolaj's point of view, which is more about figuring out his feelings. It was a fun challenge, because I wrote the original about a year ago; it was really interesting to go back and "write around it" in a way, both my favorite parts and the parts that I'd go back and change if I could. Some of Patrik's POV was carefully planned from the beginning of writing the original, because it informed my writing of Nikolaj's POV, but some of it has been backwards-engineered into this fic (including literally everything with Mikko). Like the original, this was a serious labor of love, and i hope you enjoy it! :)
> 
> The title comes from Siberia by Lights (just like the title of the other one)
> 
> (note on possible squick: patriks parents and his cousin each have brief scenes in this fic)

When Patrik stayed up late and watched grainy YouTube videos of Ovechkin highlights over and over, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more than this. He spent his days listlessly in school, his afternoons feeling alive at practice, his evenings destroying soda cans in the corners of his driveway net, and his nights rewatching that one falling Ovi goal on YouTube.

All the kids rotated in net, but he liked it best. They stuck him there because he was always the tallest and they didn’t like hanging out with him on the bench; they were always whispering one thing or another to each other. He knew he wasn’t well liked: his attitude tended to put people off, but he couldn’t help it, and he didn’t really care. He liked being goalie anyway, because it meant he always got to do things _his_ way, sort of like how Ovi did. Hockey was a team sport, but Ovi was one of a kind.

His father came out to collect the recycling one evening, watching Patrik as he destroyed can after can, split aluminium clattering on the asphalt.

“You need to stop playing in the net,” he said finally, picking the cans off the driveway.

“What?” Patrik said in disbelief. “I like being a goalie!” His father shook his head.

“It’s for the best,” he said.

Sometimes parents really do know what's best for their kids. Patrik tried his best to become his own version of his hero, talking to the poster of him on his wall when he had a bad game and fantasizing about playing against him when he had a good one. He could be one of a kind, too, if he worked hard enough, so he picked soda cans out of his neighbors’ garbage during his newspaper route to build his collection and destroyed them with his shot.

They sent him to Ivan Hlinka when he was 16, then sent him home when a teammate snitched on him for flipping off the coach on the bench. Finnish tabloids spun his words until people were asking him why he threatened to murder his coach. He was kicked off the national team and demoted from the top Finnish league.

He held his LeKi jersey and frowned. On the wall, Ovi stared at him with his steely gaze like always, taunting him.

At the start of the following season, the draft rankings had him somewhere mid-first round. He stayed up with Tappara, and was plucked back onto the national team for World Juniors in Helsinki. 

Suddenly, it was more than just Finland watching his every move. The entire hockey world turned their eyes to Helsinki and his line with Sebastian and Jesse. Sebastian was serious with a quiet humor about him. He had been drafted already, by Carolina in the second round. Jesse was all broad smiles and loud laughter, above Patrik in the current rankings and next to Patrik one bed over in their hotel room.

Their line was magic. Every puck went their way. The arenas filled with Finns rose like tides for them, giving them all the strength they needed. Everything they touched turned to gold.

They beat Canada 6-5 in the quarterfinals and Jesse hugged Patrik in their hotel room, cheering and smiling into the crook of Patrik’s neck until he was red and spluttering.

“G-good job today, Jesse,” Patrik said, stepping backwards and looking at his feet, not sure what was happening.

“You are a freakin’ revelation out there, baby,” Jesse said, grabbing Patrik’s hands and pulling him out to go hang with the boys.

So, something was happening there. Patrik watched him carefully. He’d never really thought about his sexuality; hockey had always seemed like a much more pressing concern. But he considered Jesse, his easy touchiness with everyone but most of all with Patrik, his broad shoulders and his kind eyes, the way he curled into Patrik’s body in the back of Mikko’s hotel room during the movie. Patrik was pretty sure that friends didn’t touch each other this way, and he was pretty sure friends didn’t think about the things Patrik thought about Jesse’s mouth, but as always, hockey was his first concern.

Then they beat Sweden. Sweden!

“Fuck Sweden!” Jesse yelled as they stumbled back to their room. “Finals, baby, let’s go! We’re getting gold!” And Patrik laughed because everything was easy even though there was an itch in his brain that wanted _more_ , more everything, more glory, more recognition, more of _Jesse_.

Jesse flirted with Patrik at team dinner that night, brushing his hands accidentally-on-purpose against Patrik and sitting too close, laughing in his ear. Back in their hotel room, Jesse teased Patrik for something stupid, and Patrik leaned over and kissed him without even thinking.

“Okay!” Jesse said enthusiastically, kissing Patrik back and pulling at his long hair.

They traded unpracticed handjobs and it somehow didn’t mess up anything, because Sebastian didn’t say a thing and their line continued to fly. They flew right into the finals and beat Russia in overtime, winning gold in front of thousands of screaming Finns.

The night was perfect; they bundled up in their coats and went out to party with their country. The January air was freezing but they weren’t cold even though they could see their breath. They had won gold, Patrik had been named to the tournament all-star roster, and Jesse had won MVP. 

Patrik felt like the world was coming to him, like it would not be long before he was skating on NHL ice. He watched his name rise to the second position in almost every draft ranking and he was still not satisfied.

Not until he was actually drafted. Not until he was number one. Not until he made his NHL team and not until he lifted the Stanley Cup.

Tappara won the Liiga championship and Patrik bolstered his resume with that medal and the Jari Kurri MVP trophy. He set his sights on World Championships and didn’t cut his hair. He only did that at the end of the season, and he had one more trophy to win first.

He had a good feeling. He was riding the high of World Juniors gold and the Liiga title, and he just kept scoring. It was like breathing for him. He didn’t pay attention to the records he was breaking, youngest player to do this or that, focused solely on the gold medal at the end.

Then they lost in the gold medal game, and there were going to be pictures of Patrik crying on the ice on the internet pretty soon. He won tournament MVP but it all seemed inconsequential compared to that insurmountable gap between him and Auston Matthews, the gap he had hoped to close with only one more medal.

The draft bore down on him fast. Patrik cut his hair and practiced his English, but it was never enough. He _did_ believe he was good enough to be a number one pick, who wouldn’t? What was he supposed to say, “fuck me, pick Matthews”? He _did_ believe that he could play like Ovi in 5 years, but, oh _boy_ , did people not like that one.

English was tiring, and so was being paraded around Buffalo with Olli, Jesse, and a few North Americans he barely knew, but the end goal was in sight. He roomed with Jesse in Buffalo and they fooled around a little and buzzed excitedly about the world falling open for them, contracts and screaming fans and the Stanley Cup on the inside of their eyelids.

Life moved in slow-motion but too fast, like a movie montage, from there. Winnipeg selected him second overall and he traveled to Winnipeg to meet the brass and Blake. He played golf with Mark, signed an ELC and more autographs than he could count, and went back home to train before the World Cup. The World Cup itself was a disappointment, an embarrassment of a performance by the Finns after their silver medal that spring, but it also meant that Patrik was on his way to training camp, off to play in the NHL.

He met everyone officially and tried his best not to be nervous, focusing on taping his sticks and laughing when someone chirped him. He was carrying a stick out of the dressing room when he bumped into someone, a blonde with a sharp chin and a softly upturned nose a few inches shorter than him scrolling through his phone.

 _Nikolaj Ehlers_ , Patrik’s brain supplied. He was pretty sure. He had studied the roster but there were still so many people to meet. Ehlers was the Dane, small and fast.

“Oh. Hey, nice to meet you,” probably-Nikolaj said.

“Nice to meet you.” There was a beat of silence. If he didn’t ask probably-Nikolaj if he was actually Nikolaj soon, it would be pretty awkward, considering everyone here already knew him and everything about him. “Nikolaj, right?” he asked.

Probably-Nikolaj stared at him with his bright blue eyes. Maybe it was stupid to ask him his name. No hockey player was that blonde-haired and blue-eyed without being a European. His voice didn’t _sound_ European, though. And he was _cute_ , cuter in person than roster photos online, and Patrik felt like words were slowing down in his throat. There weren’t many people who could make Patrik uncertain.

“Oh. Yeah!” Nikolaj replied. Patrik relaxed and smiled. “And you’re Patrik. Obviously. Or, I meant,” he stammered, but Patrik was just relieved there was someone around his own age, and from Europe, too! 

“See you on the ice,” Patrik said before leaving to put his stick away.

He slid in with the other members of the team easily, learning names and idiosyncrasies. He reported everything back to his mom over her home-cooked dinners.

He liked all the guys, but he liked Nikolaj best. He was young and European, just like Patrik. He was easygoing and had kind eyes and he could skate like no one Patrik had ever seen. They just seemed to find each other on the ice subconsciously, whether it be tape to tape passes or just drifting towards each other between drills to chirp and chatter. (And he was still cute, too).

“Patty, you gonna grow your hair out again this season?” Scheif asked. Patrik cocked his head at him before remembering that Scheif was Scheif, and of course he out of everyone would be the one to have read enough about him to know his tradition.

“Yeah,” he replied once he’d reconciled the fact that everyone seemed to know more about him than the other way around. “Of course.”

Lows teased him for the draft lottery interview, and he rolled his eyes to Nikolaj and laughed along. He explained it away due to his comfort in bed (no way in hell he was getting dressed that early in the morning). And Patrik had always been good with languages, but his English felt garbled and mixed up and backwards when Nikolaj squinted his blue eyes shut, tilted his head back, and _laughed_.

The thing about Nikolaj was that he was cute and he had cheekbones that couldn’t be ignored when he smiled. The thing was that he was young and European and he could understand Patrik’s half-English mumblings the best of anyone. The thing was that they started the year in Minnesota and they played Fifa half the night and didn’t stop laughing for a minute of it.

The fact of the matter was that Patrik had always known that the hardest part of moving to North America would be the people. This wasn’t what he had in mind, but the point stood.

The easy part was hockey. Hockey was the same no matter where he was. Nothing changed about the puck coming to his stick like it was magnetized, or the split second when he put his entire weight behind his shot and time seemed to stop, or the bewildered faces of goalies who didn’t see the puck until it bounced back from the netting behind them. 

He scored a hat trick in his fourth ever game in the NHL. 

Matthews had four in his first ever game, but Patrik always knew the hard part would be the people. The people who breathed down his neck about the comparisons that weren’t even there, the rivalry that didn’t exist with the American boy he didn’t know. The people who talked too fast or too loud in the language he was still getting comfortable on his tongue. The teammates who had only known losing their entire careers, who looked at him like a piece of meat.

Nikolaj, who slipped his hands along Patrik’s waistline at the bar and swayed with him, pink and drunk off too many shots, smiley and touchy and _hot_ , in all senses of the word. The bar was sweaty and packed which was nice because no one bothered them but terrible because Nikolaj was pressed against him and their arms were tangled and his legs were between Patrik’s and when a ABBA song came on, his voice was loud and breathless in Patrik’s ear. Static buzzed between them, and Patrik’s limbs felt fuzzy.

And Nikolaj _laughed_ like it was the funniest thing that his hands were in Patrik’s pockets, and Patrik was grateful to the heat of the bar for masking the red flush on his cheeks. He laughed too, because it was crazy and it was _fun_ and no one on their team could dance to save their lives. 

Eventually, when it seemed like Nikolaj’s legs were turning liquid and his words were just babble, Patrik sent him home in a cab. He was stone sober, but the high of the night could’ve fooled him, until they were outside and the cold air blasted in his face, draining the heat and color out of it. Nikolaj was still warm wrapped around his waist.

“You’re crazy, man!” Nikolaj cackled as he tripped into the taxi. “You big fuckin’ beauty!” Patrik smiled weakly and paid the driver in advance.

Hockey was easy. People were so, _so_ hard.

But it wasn’t in his nature to accept things as they were. He wanted more, always wanted to be and have the best. 

Becoming the best was a lot of work. Between practices and games, Patrik’s remaining energy was dedicated to video games and doing whatever he could to keep up with friends from Tampere. His mother cooked and cleaned and kept him alive, thankfully. They ate dinner together and chatted in quiet Finnish. She provided a refuge for him away from the hysteria of the hockey world, the obsession with him from which there was no escape once he left the condo.

He told her stories from practice which all, inevitably, seemed to circle back to Nikolaj; his demeanor and the way the two of them were perfectly in-step.

“And when are you going to invite this friend over for dinner?” she asked, with that knowing mom look in her eyes.

“Oh. I dunno. I can, if you want.” Patrik shrugged. It would be kinda weird, but kinda nice too, maybe.

“Pate, your friends are always welcome here,” she replied.

Patrik couldn’t think of a good excuse why it’d be weird, and he certainly couldn’t tell his mother about his ever-growing crush on Nikolaj. Before he could stop it from happening, Nikolaj was in his condo, in his bedroom playing video games with him, at his kitchen table laughing with his mother about childhood stories.

“Your friend is so funny,” Patrik’s mom said in Finnish halfway through the meal. “Cute, too!”

“ _Mama_ ,” Patrik replied, also in Finnish, “don’t embarrass me!” He felt himself redden, and his mom just giggled and asked Nikolaj if she could get him anything else.

Nikolaj was perfectly gracious and funny to Patrik’s mother. And he was still so cute. Patrik at least agreed with his mother about that, though he’d never tell her.

When Nikolaj finally left, she turned to Patrik and smiled, taking his hand in both of her own.

“I’m really glad you’re making such nice friends,” she said. “You know when you were little, you had such a hard time—”

“Mama, I _know_ ,” Patrik said quickly, not wanting to relive it.

“Well, I’m glad you invited him.” She started walking from the entryway to the couch, as if to start a conversation with him. “And you can always invite anyo—”

“Yep okay, thanks mama,” Patrik interrupted, already walking off to his bedroom. He felt bad, because she really did try hard, but his social meter had drained to zero and he needed to be alone for a while.

He’d been feeling taut like a string lately, between preparing for his crush to meet his mom and just the general stress of having millions of people dissect every second he stood on the ice. He laid on his back on his bed, arm over his face so his eyes were in the crook of his elbow. He exhaled heavily, and ghosted his over hand over the front of his jeans.

 _Fuck it_ , he thought. He popped the button of his jeans, unzipped, and pulled his dick out, stroking it slowly to full hardness. He squeezed his eyes shut and recalled his usual fantasy material: the memory of fooling around at the draft with Jesse. It was nice, rolling around on the hotel bed, Jesse’s hand big around Patrik’s dick and his mouth warm against Patrik’s neck. Jesse had done this thing, rolling Patrik’s balls in his hand, and he shuddered at the memory, leaking and getting close. He pushed up his shirt and ran his hand across the plane of his stomach and the jut of his hip bones.

As fantasies are wont to do, the mental image shifted, Jesse’s face melting into Nikolaj’s. Patrik got impossibly harder and it was too difficult to suppress it from there. Nikolaj was riding Patrik into the bed, his hands low on Patrik’s stomach as he bounced, the muscles in his abdomen flexing, the tattoo on his inner arm peeking out. Nikolaj moaned, eyes fluttering shut as he grinded against Patrik, rolling his hips.

Patrik squeezed his dick and came hard, gasping into the meat of his arm. The fantasy melted away, leaving Patrik alone in the dark room.

So much for his ‘don’t fantasize about teammates’ rule.

His crush got worse, impossibly worse, from there.

At practice, they were always together, attached at the hip, chirping each other about anything and everything. Patrik said as much stupid and goofy stuff as possible, because it meant that Nikolaj would do the thing where he would let his head roll back and he’d laugh, loud and bright and echoing in the empty arena. On their line, Nikolaj skated like nobody Patrik had ever seen and took Patrik’s long passes perfectly on his tape. Nikolaj blew past every defender but could never convert on breakaways; Patrik chirped him all night and Nikolaj just laughed and gave it right back.

“You gonna break another controller tonight, bud?” Nikolaj laughed, swatting the back of Patrik’s head, referencing Patrik’s enraged reaction to losing at ‘chel the previous night.

“No!” Patrik grumbled. He grabbed Nikolaj’s wrist and pulled him closer, pelting him with a ball of tape.

“Hey, boys! No flirting in the locker room!” Thorbs said, sitting next to Patrik. Patrik’s cheeks burned. He dropped Nikolaj’s wrist as if shocked.

Nikolaj bought Patrik Starbucks on the road. Nikolaj split slices of cake from room service with Patrik. After Patrik’s own goal in December, Nikolaj held his wrist on the plane and rubbed his fingers in tiny circles until the sound of static subsided in his head.

Electricity skated over Patrik’s skin, sharp and prickly and painful. Patrik was far too familiar with the feeling, too hot and hard. He’d always set fires everywhere he’d gone.

But he turned and looked at Nikolaj, and he knew that Nikolaj was all different. Nikolaj was the cool surface of a lake, the crash of ocean waves. Nikolaj, he hoped, was fireproof. Nikolaj didn’t take away his hand until they landed.

They walked back to their cars in the silence of the night. Patrik was desperate for him, desperate to have him closer. “It’s late,” he said. “My mom will be asleep.” He wished he could just man up and invite him over, tell him he didn’t want to be alone.

“Yeah, probably.” Nikolaj yawned. His keys jingled as he unlocked and opened his car door. Patrik tried to stop him, wanting to say anything to get Nikolaj to not leave him. Nikolaj didn’t close his door, and for a second Patrik hoped that he’d tell Patrik to come home with him.

“Now, uh,” Nikolaj said instead, “we both have one. Yours was a lot prettier, though.” He smiled at Patrik, and it was like the stress and fear of the moment washed away. Patrik smiled in spite of himself. “Goodbye, Patrik.”

Nikolaj closed his door and drove out of the dark parking lot. Patrik waved. “Bye,” he said, to himself, mostly.

Patrik drove home and let himself into the condo; his mom was asleep, no doubt aware that Patrik wouldn’t want to talk about the disastrous game and own goal. He crawled into bed and let his emotions out. He cried silently into the pillowcase for a few seconds, releasing the pent up sadness and anger and frustration from the night.

Afterward, wiping his eyes off on his sleeve, he shimmied out of his suit, down to his underwear, and sighed. He jerked off with quick strokes, not going for endurance or anything, just some quick relief. In his overactive imagination, his hand was Nikolaj’s, and Nikolaj’s voice was in his ear, saying “Patrik” as softly as he had in the parking lot.

He came, hips stuttering. He cleaned himself off, rolled over, and fell asleep, hoping to sleep off the disappointment both of the game and the hopelessness of his crush.

Patrik awoke to a text from Sasha; apparently the world had finally decided to allow something good to happen to him.

_Looking forward to seeing you this week._

Patrik squinted, rubbing his eyes. It was too early to think about the schedule. He clicked it open on his phone, and sure enough, their next game was at home against the Panthers.

 _looking forward to beating the crap out of you >:)_, Patrik replied. 

_Haha. We’ll see about that_ , came the reply that afternoon, just as Patrik was about to check if Sasha was online to play Call of Duty. Patrik rolled his eyes at the _Haha._ Sasha texted like a dad.

They teamed up on some thirteen year olds in CoD for a few hours that afternoon, and Patrik felt himself get a little excited to see him again on Thursday. The own goal was already far away in his mind. He’d just have to score a few more to make up for it, but that was easy enough.

Patrik always knew the easy part would be the hockey.

He only got an assist in the Florida game (in the _correct_ net, thank you very much) and Sasha scored, but the Jets took it in the shootout so Patrik called it even.

“I didn’t know you were a playmaker,” Sasha said, chirping him after the game, standing in the hallway in their suits before Sasha had to catch his bus.

“And I didn’t know you were an elite goalscorer,” Patrik chirped back. “I’ll be watching that tape, taking notes on your form.”

“Fifty in 2017, put money on it,” and Sasha laughed at that, because they both knew that if Sasha had 49 goals and was skating to an empty net, he’d pass it every time.

An equipment manager came by with a trunk, wheeling it through the empty hall. Patrik and Sasha watched him walk up, pausing their conversation.

“Five minutes Barky, okay?” he said in English, nodding at Sasha.

“I’ll be at the bus in time, don’t worry,” Sasha replied. Patrik smirked hearing him speak English; he’d never get used to that.

The equipment manager turned the corner.

“So, everything going okay?” Sasha turned back to Patrik, slipping back into Finnish and turning on Older Brother Mode. “Language is okay, teammates not too mean?”

Patrik nodded. “Everything is great,” he said, completely honestly. The language was coming fast, easier every day. His teammates were great, and Patrik couldn’t help but think of Nikolaj. Especially Nikolaj.

“You’re close with the Dane, right? Ehlers?” Sasha asked. 

Patrik bit his lip in spite of himself and nodded, wishing he was wearing a hat because he _knew_ his ears were red.

Sasha paused for a second. Recognition crossed over his face. “Wait a second. That’s your Mikko Face! You’ve got a crush on this guy?!”

Patrik guffawed. “This is not my _Mikko Face_! I don’t even _have_ a Mikko Face!”

“Don’t lie! All spring, you were _all_ over him, batting your eyes and biting your lip and shit. You even followed him to Turku to train!” Sasha pointed at him accusingly. “You’ve just got a thing for your cute blonde teammates, huh?”

And Patrik tried to splutter out a defense, but Sasha was right. “And what about it?” he finally managed. Not a very good comeback, but he had to keep as much of his dignity as he could.

“No, nothing about it. I think it’s kinda cute! Just, you know, be careful.” Sasha looked at Patrik, doe-eyed, eyes sad in that watery, unreadable way.

“Yeah, of course, you know me.” Patrik brushed him off. “I’m always careful.”

Sasha raised his eyebrows. He didn’t need to mention all the times Patrik’s lightning had struck trees and started brush fires, all the times Patrik had opened his mouth too long or too much, all the times tabloids had his name on the front page.

Patrik had been called a lot of things (eccentric, cocky, one-dimensional) and none of them had ever been _careful_.

Sasha caught his bus and Patrik went home alone, back to his mother. Colorado was in Winnipeg that weekend and Patrik didn’t do his Mikko Face, not to Mikko or Nikolaj. 2016 rushed to a close, the Jets playing game after game, the pace of the season breakneck.

Patrik scored his twentieth in Tampa Bay. Nikolaj blasted ABBA in the hotel room as they gamed and Patrik felt-lightheaded, remembering the night in the bar in the first month of the season, Nikolaj’s hands on his hips, ABBA loud in his ears.

Patrik let Nikolaj beat him repeatedly at Fifa. Nikolaj _laughed_ and threw his legs over Patrik’s and called him a million names. In the background, in Patrik’s ears and in his brain, ABBA sang _don’t go wasting your emotion, lay all your love on me_ , and _would you laugh at me, if I said I care for you? Could you feel the same way too?_

Nikolaj went to the bathroom and Patrik turned the music off. It was hitting a little too thematically close to home.

Patrik saw Sasha again the next night. He’d been injured at the end of December, so he was comfortable in his suit, clean and dry, when Patrik jogged up to him fresh out of the shower.

“Good to see you again,” Sasha greeted him.

“You too. Sorry about your back.” Patrik winced, and Sasha just shrugged.

“What can you do. You’re playing really well.”

“Thanks.”

“Is everything still going well? You’re not getting too tired?” And there was Older Brother Mode again.

“I mean, it’s hard,” Patrik admitted. “It’s a lot of games. Too many, probably. I’ll have to get used to it.”

“It’s definitely a punishing schedule. Over the years, it’ll get easier. How’s your family? Did they all come for Christmas?”

“Mm-hmm.” They talked a little more about their families, everyone’s health and happiness in the new year. Patrik wasn’t paying attention to the time, and before long there was a small “uh” behind him.

Patrik spun and Nikolaj was there in his suit. He reddened, and he knew Sasha was smiling next to him, and would probably embarrass Patrik.

“Fly,” he said, feeling awkward. “Do you know Sasha?”

Sasha was _grinning_ as he shook Nikolaj’s hand. Nikolaj looked confused.

“Nice to meet you,” he said in English, before turning to Patrik and saying in Finnish, “you know, he _is_ pretty cute. Have you bothered to do anything about your little crush on him yet?”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Patrik replied, feeling himself redden impossibly further. He smacked Sasha’s arm. “I’m not gonna do anything _now_ , halfway through the season!”

“So, yeah… Patty, we gotta leave now to get back to the hotel, Paul sent me to collect you.” Nikolaj looked between the two of them.

Patrik figured it was probably a good time to exit the situation before Sasha said anything and weirded Nikolaj out. “I’ll text you,” he told him as he walked off with Nikolaj.

Nikolaj was kind of weird about it. On the bus, he sucked breath in between his teeth and said, “so. Barkov seems nice. You two friends?”

Patrik inadvertently started thinking of Sasha’s eyes on Nikolaj, the way he raised his eyebrows at Patrik as if to chirp him for his crush, and he went hot all over. “We play a lot of CoD together,” he said tightly, wanting to drop the subject.

Patrik was distracted the rest of the night, all the way until they were in bed. He thought about Sasha, Sasha’s description of his _Mikko Face_ , and the teasing tone in his voice when he mentioned Patrik’s ‘little crush’.

He wished it was only a ‘little crush’. Now it spread through his body like a forest fire.

“Patty?” Nikolaj suddenly said in the dark. Patrik started, having thought that he was already asleep. “I know we’re hockey players and it’s lame to talk about feelings, or whatever, but, like, if you ever have something on your mind, you can talk to me about it. I wouldn’t even chirp you.” Patrik breathed out a chuckle, because Nikolaj was far too kind and caring for Patrik. All Patrik knew how to do was destroy things, set fires and break walls. But he wanted him anyway; he wanted Nikolaj to mend what he’d burned down.

“Thanks, bud,” he said, meaning it.

There was a quiet moment. Then: “Patrik?” Patrik turned in bed to face Nikolaj, or at least the dark outline of him facing the ceiling. “Are you and Barkov—or, Sasha, like, a thing?” 

And that’s not what Patrik had been expecting at all, but he could see where Nikolaj was coming from. “No, I’m not—” he started, beginning to deny that he was gay, but that was maybe not right. But maybe not wrong, either. He wasn’t really anything. He hadn’t thought about it at all until Jesse had gotten him wrapped around his finger. “Or, well, I am, uh,” he continued, trying to self correct but losing the English, the right words melting away on his tongue, unpracticed and unsure. He took a moment to consider, what he could say. He didn’t want to lie to Nikolaj. “He was just teasing me for a crush I have on someone from home,” he finally settled on.

Which wasn’t a lie. Sasha teased him for his two crushes on two boys from two homes; Mikko from home in Finland, and Nikolaj from his new home, home in Winnipeg.

And Nikolaj just replied with a quiet “oh,” and that was that. Patrik couldn’t read the ‘oh’, not sure of its tone, and he fell asleep wondering if he had said the wrong thing.

It was a new year. All he could do was keep moving forward, day by day, game by game, flights from city to city.

Patrik forgot the Buffalo game. When he woke up, all he could recall was getting to the rink, warmups, and then nothing until he was back in the locker room nursing the worst headache of his life.

Concussion, they told him, a minor one. Recovery was meant to be straightforward. No screens and no physical activity for a little while. Every concussion was different, they told him, but it would probably be just a couple weeks.

Considering that screens and physical activity were the two things Patrik knew how to do, he felt pretty crappy about the whole thing.

They let him go to practice, at the very least. He watched Nikolaj skate, his perfect lines, the way he buzzed by everyone, always the fastest on the ice. They chatted for a moment between drills, and Patrik’s heart leapt into his mouth seeing his smile and hearing that laugh in the back of his throat when Patrik joked about his injury.

Patrik’s mom drove him home with him in a daze; he was distracted and brimming with affection. He knew that he fell too easily, that it really only took a cute smile and a few chirps before he was spinning out of control again. But that didn’t stop him from doing it all over, or from locking himself in the bathroom and running the tap full blast so he could make noise while he jerked off, gasping as he bent over the sink. His hands burnt under the tap when he rinsed them off. 

He was doing it again. There was lightning under his skin and fire in his heart and he couldn’t keep it to himself. He let the water run over his hands a long time. He was safe under the water, where he couldn’t do anything brash and stupid.

The concussion ended up being a welcome break. He slept for hours on end, doing nothing but hoping that his brain would hurry up and heal. And it did, eventually. He was at practice, then at practice with contact, and then in the lineup again, feeling refreshed and ready for the second half of a very long season.

The timing was perfect, too, because they sent him to the All Star Game and there were a million things to do and people to talk to. He ran through the fan-and-autograph gauntlet, then the press gauntlet, and finally, the scariest of all, the player gauntlet, dozens of NHLers whose names he did _not_ know shaking his hand and making conversation.

He sat on the end of the bench at the skills competition and tried to smile. The guys in the central were nice, but older and more familiar with each other and decidedly less Finnish, so it was hard.

He flubbed the accuracy shooting but shot above 100 miles per hour during hardest shot, second to only Shea Weber. He shot harder than Ovi ( _harder_ than _Ovi!_ ) and that was all that really mattered. In Tampere the poster on his wall, steely-gazed, was no longer the man he was chasing but instead the one he was competing with.

Patrik’s heart fell all the way out of his ass the next day at the All Star Game when Ovi approached him in the locker room, nodded at him, and said, “keep it up, kid. But you should know, I don’t go down easy.”

His pulse raced, but Patrik liked a challenge more than anything, so his set his jaw, smirked, and nodded. “I’ll beat you,” he said, and Ovi laughed. 

“Feisty sunuvabitch, huh? I like it.” Ovi clapped him on the shoulder and left for the Eastern Conference locker room, and Patrik trembled from the adrenaline of the moment. He sat in his stall and flexed his hands, trying to get them to stop shaking, and he grinned because that was Ovi, Ovi in the _flesh_ , talking to him like a real person, instead of all the times Patrik talked to the paper version of him on his wall.

The guys around him were smiling to themselves too, because Patrik’s idol was no secret in the NHL, especially when Patrik sat at the top of the circle on the power play and fired lightning bolts into the back of the net.

The game itself didn’t go well at all, but it didn’t matter at all compared to the games coming down the stretch when Patrik got back to Winnipeg, so he just smiled when Nikolaj interrupted his scrum to chirp him about it. He replied, too easily, “if you would’ve been there, that would’ve been better” which was maybe a little too forward, but Patrik wasn’t really known for holding his tongue.

He always said too much, or spoke when he shouldn’t have. Dallas showed up in Winnipeg the next month and Patrik learned that it was Nikolaj’s birthday because of a chirp from Mark. He chewed the inside of his cheek and felt weird, like he should’ve known.

They were in the tunnel, and he couldn’t hold his tongue. “I didn’t get you anything for your birthday.”

“What?” Nikolaj tilted his head. “No, dude, you didn’t have to, don’t, uh.” Patrik’s stomach flipped as they headed down the tunnel onto the ice. He _knew_ he didn’t _have_ to get anything, but it didn’t stop him from feeling strange about it. Nikolaj was 21 now, old enough to get his own shots at bars in America, and he hadn’t said anything. And Patrik hadn’t known.

Suddenly Patrik felt very far from him, like he was realizing that in some ways, he still barely knew him.

But when Nikolaj spun on the ice to face him, the lights of the arena flashing around him, and said, “you know what? Here’s what you can get me for my birthday: a couple goals,” Patrik grinned and realized that Nikolaj was the same as him. All hockey players were the same, really.

Patrik couldn’t be satisfied with just ‘a couple goals’, and he knew Nikolaj was the same as him, and he wouldn’t be either. So when he scored one, he had to score another. And once he’d gotten his second, he could taste the third on the tip of his tongue. When the third sailed down the length of the rink into the empty net, he skated to the bench, parked himself next to Nikolaj, and smirked.

“You son of a bitch,” Nikolaj said, grinning and patting him on the back. Patrik shrugged, leaning into him.

After all, hockey was always the easy part.

The night was perfect when they finally made it out to the lot. The sky was clear and the moon hung over them, illuminating the pavement. It felt like the kind of night you could fall in love with. It felt like the kind of moon you could fall in love under. It was cold but windless, so with Nikolaj beside him Patrik felt like they were two tiny candles lit in the darkness.

He didn’t know how to put it into words. He struggled with it as they made it to their cars, parked side by side. He tried to speak, but there was only Finnish in his throat. He decided to keep it to himself instead, so he went for the handle to his door.

But Nikolaj said, “it’s pretty late,” and Patrik turned to ice. Because it _was_ pretty late, and all he could think of was the night in December he had said the same thing, just because he had wanted Nikolaj to stay with him.

“Yeah,” Patrik replied, disguising the anticipation and _hope_ in his voice.

“Your mom might be asleep already,” Nikolaj said, again repeating Patrik’s own words, as if Patrik wouldn’t remember his worst night and the things he said during it. “And I’m not really tired.”

 _Fuck it_ , Patrik thought. “Hmm. What I’m getting from this is, ‘chel?”

So they sped to Nikolaj’s apartment. Every building was silent and dark, but Patrik and Nikolaj set the world on fire with the beams of their headlights. In the complex’s parking garage, moonlight streamed in, painting the concrete white. The moon was the only one watching them; they were secret from the world. This night was for them and them alone, and Patrik memorized every detail. He leaned against the doorframe as Nikolaj jiggled the lock. Patrik exhaled and Nikolaj breathed in.

And Patrik wasn’t totally sure what flirting was like, especially not in North America and in English, but he knew just as well as anybody that sometimes inviting someone over for video games wasn’t _just_ for video games. He chirped Nikolaj and pressed their shoulders together and tossed chips into his mouth, trying his hardest to telegraph his crush. For Nikolaj to invite him over, it had to mean something. It _had_ to.

Chirping turned to play fighting and then their hands were all over each other; Nikolaj was reaching for Patrik’s controller and Patrik was holding him off. He had a hand on Nikolaj’s chest and Nikolaj was grabbing his thigh and getting up into his space. For a wild, intense moment, Patrik was convinced Nikolaj was going to kiss him, because they were breathing the same air and it was long past midnight, into the hours when bad choices seem like good ones.

But Nikolaj moved his face and when Patrik pushed him, he fell back instead of fighting against it, and the moment dissolved. Patrik chided himself for even thinking it, for fantasizing about kissing Nikolaj, how his stubble would feel, how he’d fit in Patrik’s lap.

They played some more, but Patrik sensed a distance between them that wasn’t there before. He couldn’t believe how badly he’d misread the situation. It hadn’t meant anything for Patrik to come here, at least not to Nikolaj. He excused himself and went home, hoping not to wake his mother. He sat at the end of his bed, stomach turning.

 _Well, fuck_ , he thought, before giving up and turning his light off.

All that stood between them and their week-long break after that was a four game roadie. And really, the only game on Patrik’s mind was the Toronto game. He couldn’t turn on his phone without seeing another article, another comparison thinkpiece. He didn’t want to think about Auston Matthews or the Calder, but really, the hardest part was always the people.

The media he had to brush off when they bothered him about the game, the eyes and whispers of millions of fans who didn’t (and never would) know him, and his teammates, with their sad peering eyes like they wanted to comfort him about something he just wanted to forget.

Fuck the haters, fuck the critics. He scored twice, but they lost in OT. He escaped his post-game scrum and he had never been more grateful for a break from hockey in his life.

Nikolaj went away, so they texted and snapped a little each day. Patrik wasn’t sure whether to pull away or not. He tried to put space between them, feeling like his crush was getting too big for his body, and that he’d do something stupid if he didn’t take a step back, but every photo of Nikolaj grinning with his siblings blurry in the background pulled him right back in.

He could keep himself under control. He could be cool. They came back from the player break and things were the same as always. The team wasn’t very good, but they were building, piece by piece, slowing slotting the parts together.

It wasn’t even another full month before they were eliminated. And it sucked. Patrik wanted to bitch and moan, because what was the point, if there was no playoffs? But Blake found him moping in the locker room, sat down next to him, clapped him on the back, and said, “Patty. The NHL season is long. An NHL career is longer. How old are you? You still 18?” Patrik nodded. He had a few weeks left before his birthday. 

“Well,” Blake continued. “I’m 30. And I’ve been to playoffs once. You have to remember this feeling, okay? The feeling of not having what you want. And you have to go get it. C’mon. Next year, we’re gonna fuckin’ kill it.”

The feeling of not having what he wanted, huh?

He wanted wins. They closed the season with seven of them, lined up in a row.

He wanted goals. He got 36. Ovi got 33.

He wanted Nikolaj. They hugged on lockout day, Nikolaj’s face pressed into Patrik’s neck. It wasn’t close enough, never close enough.

Nikolaj went to Worlds, and Patrik went to the NHL awards. He brought his mom and she squeezed his hand when he didn’t win. He was fine; it was fine, really, because how was he supposed to win when he had fewer goals and assists and didn’t play in Toronto? He shrugged it all off, the photos of Auston Matthews with his massive trophy, the mocking photos of himself, the jet lag of flying to and from Vegas for a single night.

He left Tampere to train in Turku for the summer with Mikko and Rasmus and a bunch of guys, just like he had the previous summer.

 _hey, do you need a place to live in turku? the place i rent has an extra room._ Reading the text, Patrik remembered why he liked Mikko so much in the first place. He was just so… friendly. Friendly when he invited Patrik to his place, showing him his room with the bed made. Friendly when they trained together, always spotting Patrik during his sets and playing doubles badminton with him. Friendly every night, gaming together and cooking dinner in his tiny kitchen.

Patrik’s year-old infatuation with him came back, just a little. It was hard for it not to, what with Mikko trudging sleepily out of his bedroom in the morning, shirtless and hair a mess, grunting a good morning to Patrik and turning the coffee on. They spent all their time together; they trained three times a day, and spent the rest of their time just hanging out, at Mikko’s apartment or out and about, sometimes with the other guys too, but mostly just the two of them.

“Let’s go out,” Mikko said one night after dinner, plopping down next to Patrik on the narrow loveseat. Patrik was on his laptop, trying to get a hotel room for himself and Nikolaj for Toby’s wedding at the start of July. “Let’s go to the beach, or something.” Patrik raised his eyebrows. Mikko was smiling, squished against him on the small couch.

“Gimme a sec,” Patrik said. “I gotta do this thing.” He was scrolling through the hotel website, which was unfortunately only available in Swedish or English. 

“Is this for the wedding?” Mikko asked. Patrik nodded. “Whatever, just get the first one,” Mikko continued leaning over Patrik’s shoulder. “I don’t wanna sit around tonight.”

Patrik looked at Mikko, and he could feel his Mikko Face coming on. (Which, screw Sasha for getting into Patrik’s head about it, because it was _all_ he could think about.) Mikko smiled, grabbing Patrik’s arm and gently trying to tug him away from the computer.

“C’mon,” Mikko said, dragging the word out. His shirt dipped low around his collarbone, and Patrik was possibly a little distracted.

“Fine, fine,” Patrik said, quickly clicking the first available room that said _two-person_ , disregarding the paragraph of information about it and purchasing it.

He and Mikko took a long walk down the beach. Patrik shot a text to Nikolaj, _got our room for toby’s wedding. see u soon_ , and pocketed his phone, getting lost in the conversation.

They spent lots of nights out by the water, eating out when they didn’t want to cook, going for walks to stretch their legs after long workouts, and swimming sometimes when the water wasn’t too cold. But they stayed in plenty too, because they were really both homebodies at heart, crushed against each other on the loveseat that Mikko stubbornly said was big enough for both of them.

Usually Patrik ended up half on Mikko’s lap, tangled up while they gamed. He beat Mikko handily at pretty much anything. “You’ve got way too much time on your hands to be this good,” Mikko complained after Patrik destroyed him once again at CoD. Mikko reached over to the side table for his water. A stripe of his lower abdomen was revealed, and Patrik blinked away, feeling embarrassed.

“It’s not my problem that you suck,” Patrik replied easily. 

“I do _not_ suck!” Mikko choked on his water. “You’re just some weird hermit who does nothing but play hockey and PlayStation!” He hit Patrik playfully, fingers lingering slightly, and all the hair on Patrik’s arms stood up. The loveseat was stupidly small, and Patrik knew he was red all the way down his neck. He tried to get out another chirp, but he was distracted, and Mikko’s thigh was pressed up against his own, and Mikko was watching him.

“W-whatever,” he managed, pushing back against Mikko, and they resumed playing. They chirped back and forth a little more, shoving each other back and forth.

Patrik won again, but this time when he turned to celly in Mikko’s face, he was grinning too, and he dropped his controller, cupped Patrik’s face in his hands, and kissed him.

And it would’ve been amazing if it hadn’t been so _weird_. Patrik kissed back, but after a moment pulled away, and looked down.

“Um,” he said. Static electricity ran up and down his arms. He thought of Nikolaj, his perfect nose and the way his smaller stature seemed to fit against every curve of Patrik’s body when they cellied on the ice.

“Was that, uh,” Mikko said, adjusting his hat, “as weird for you as it was for me?”

“Yeah,” Patrik admitted. They looked at each other sadly for a second.

“I kind of thought… Maybe.” Mikko twiddled his fingers. He licked his lips. “But now, maybe not so much.”

Patrik nodded. “Maybe, uh, a year ago,” he said, thinking of when his crush was more than just physical appreciation, of the mooning over Mikko he’d done for a whole summer before going to Winnipeg.

“Yeah,” Mikko agreed. “Maybe a year ago.”

Patrik was grateful for the break, when a few days later he headed to the airport for Sweden. He was excited and nervous to see Nikolaj again; they still texted and snapped but it wasn’t the same as the season, when they’d been inseparable for months on end. His flight showed up first, and he caught Nikolaj in a hug when he arrived. They chatted about their summers so far, and Patrik danced around mentioning Mikko. 

They found the big sign with ground transport information, and Patrik looked over at Nikolaj. He was Danish, which was pretty much Swedish, right? “You speak Swedish, right?”

“Uh, I was gonna ask you the same thing,” Nikolaj replied. “Don’t they teach you Swedish in Finland?” Nikolaj wasn’t _wrong_ , but Patrik hadn’t attended any school in ages.

“I dropped out of high school,” he reminded Nikolaj.

“I went to high school in Nova Scotia,” Nikolaj shot back.

“Well, fuck.” Patrik’s shoulders sagged. He stared at the sign again, trying to recall the things he’d learned in grade school, the numbers _ett_ through _tio_ , basic nouns like _kvinna_ and _barn_.

Danish cognates, pictures, and the little Patrik could contribute helped them find a cab, only for the cabbie to speak English with less of an accent than Scheif.

“I just realized that there was probably an English version of that sign somewhere,” Nikolaj grumbled.

“God dammit,” Patrik muttered back. 

Nikolaj patted Patrik’s thigh. “We’re really lucky that we have a single high school diploma between the two of us.” Patrik rolled his eyes. The trip was off to a great start.

Things looked up once they reached the hotel. Patrik approached the woman at the desk and put on his media face to check them in.

“Okay, Mr. Laine,” she said, pronouncing his name close enough to correctly and pushing the key across the desk. “Your suite is on the twelfth floor. Wi-Fi is complimentary; you’ll find the password in the room. Enjoy your stay.” She looked back behind Patrik to Nikolaj, who was standing with their bags. The smile on her face read like she thought it was Patrik and Nikolaj’s wedding instead of Toby and Camilla’s. Patrik raised his eyebrows but accepted the room key without comment.

It wasn’t until they got into the room and Patrik finished washing his face after the long day of travel that Patrik understood her grin. He turned the corner of the room to find a very confused-looking Nikolaj, and only one bed instead of two.

“What’s up?” he asked, sitting.

“Where’s the other bed?” Nikolaj spun around.

“Uh.” Electricity ran up Patrik’s arms. “There isn’t two?” He was pretty sure he’d gotten a room with two beds. But he’d been distracted by Mikko and had just clicked the first one on the list.

“You were supposed to get the room, man, c’mon!” Nikolaj shoved Patrik’s shoulder. Patrik watched Nikolaj’s eyes flick back and forth. He flopped back on the bed.

“Sorry, sorry!” he said, trying to decide if Nikolaj was mad or grossed out. “I just picked the cheapest one that said two people!” And it wasn’t quite a lie, but it wasn’t quite the truth either.

He was worried that Nikolaj was gonna yell, or say that he didn’t want to sleep next to him. Patrik wanted him close, always closer. Fire burned in his gut, but then the bed dipped next to him and Nikolaj was crawling up beside him to lie down, their shoulders pressed together.

And Patrik didn’t think of his shoulder against Mikko’s on the loveseat. The moment overwhelmed him, from the simple things like way Nikolaj smelled to the weight of the situation, the domesticity of sharing a bed with him for two nights.

“Sorry about the Calder, man,” Nikolaj said, and Patrik turned to look at him. Nikolaj was staring at the ceiling.

Patrik shrugged. He’d gotten over it. “I’ll just win a couple of Rockets to make myself feel better.”

“‘Atta boy!” Nikolaj laughed, and Patrik relaxed.

After they were sufficiently decompressed, they went to explore. Patrik was young and making more money than any newly-nineteen year old should, and so he hadn’t pinched his pennies picking the hotel. It towered over the Swedish coastline, the water twinkling blue far below them. Nikolaj peered down at the other buildings as Patrik explored the amenities on the top floor.

He turned a corner and found a sauna. He buzzed with excitement seeing it, and ran back to the tall windows Nikolaj was pressed against. Patrik’s stomach rose into his throat. It could’ve been the height of the top floor, but it could’ve been the tattoo peeking out from Nikolaj’s sleeve where his arm was braced against the glass.

He grabbed Nikolaj’s hem and pulled, saying, “Fly, Fly, there’s a sauna!”

“Oh, cool,” Nikolaj replied. “I’ve never been in one, actually.”

“You’ve _never_ been in a sauna?” Patrik spluttered, horrified.

“No, I mean, it’s not really a thing in Denmark.” Nikolaj put his hands up, and Patrik crossed his arms.

“After the wedding tomorrow, I know what we’re doing. Sauna is serious business,” he said, as solemnly as possible.

Nikolaj smiled, seemingly amused. “Okay, okay, sheesh,” he said. “C’mon, I heard there’s a gym.”

Patrik grinned and they ran around like they were back in Winnipeg, misbehaving and laughing the whole afternoon.

That night, after half an hour of clicking through Swedish TV, Patrik gave up, getting up and saying, “I’m going to bed.”

Nikolaj turned the TV off. “I guess I, uh, will also, considering there’s only one bed,” he said. “Unless, uh, you want me to sleep on the couch.”

There it was again, the discomfort that Patrik wasn’t sure was just Nikolaj being awkward or if Nikolaj didn’t want to be near him. But Nikolaj had put the ball in his court.

“What? No, don’t be an idiot,” he said, trying to make it as casual as possible. “It’s only weird if you make it weird.” He grabbed his pajamas and said, “I’m gonna shower now.”

The shower in the hotel was just as fancy as the rest of the hotel, and it was a luxury after a month of showering in Mikko’s tiny bathroom. Patrik scrubbed himself down, cleansing himself of the long day.

And it wasn’t like he could do it when he was sharing a bed with Nikolaj, so he jerked off in the shower, fantasizing about what would happen in their shared bed in his wildest dreams, the things that only happened in romance movies or pornos. It felt taboo with Nikolaj on the other side of the wall, probably undressing, and Patrik leaning against the wall, thinking about him. In his fantasies, Patrik had Nikolaj on his back and Nikolaj’s legs hooked over his shoulders, and they were panting hard like they were double-shifted, and Nikolaj threw his head back to expose his neck, and Patrik’s legs nearly buckled as he came against the shower wall.

Nikolaj was in bed facing the window when Patrik climbed in, sleepy and heavy-limbed (and decidedly _not_ spread-eagle with his legs up). Patrik laid facing Nikolaj’s back, staring at his neck and the short buzzed hairs at his nape. He put a hand down in front of himself, and they were so close that he nearly touched Nikolaj’s back. They were inches away from spooning, and Patrik considered the semantics of it all. Was it only spooning if they were touching, or if he had his arm around Nikolaj? 

Was the electricity coursing through his veins only dangerous if it met the water?

He fell asleep with his hair flying up and away from his head, standing on end.

The next morning they got ready for the wedding, putting on their suits side by side like it was a road game. As always, Patrik tied his tie and then turned to Nikolaj, sheepishly allowing him to straighten his messy knot.

Patrik zoned out during the Swedish wedding, instead looking around the church and its ornate decorations while the priest droned on. He was sure it was lovely, and he _would’ve_ paid attention if he had understood a single word said, but it was nice enough to just watch Toby and Camilla hold hands and kiss at the end. That, at least, was the same in any language.

The reception was in a tent along the coast; the tablecloths fluttered in the sea breeze. They ate cake and told Toby not to tell the trainers about it.

“C’mon,” Patrik said, tugging on Nikolaj’s sleeve. “Let’s walk off the cake.”

Nikolaj carried a glass of wine and they slid over the rocks along the coast, talking about their summers and families and whatever else was on their minds. They walked for a few minutes and then stopped before they got too far away. They stood next to each other and stared out to the ocean.

“Hey,” Nikolaj said, “can you see Finland from here?”

The water spread out endlessly in front of them. Patrik looked at Nikolaj with a wry smile. “Really?” he asked. All they could see was water, rushing up to and crashing against the rocks, mist spraying up at them.

They walked back after another minute of companionable silence. Nikolaj finished his glass of wine. Then he finished another.

“Patrik, be a lamb,” he said, gesturing with his glass. His tie was untied, and his top two buttons were undone. Patrik rolled his eyes but poured him another glass.

Nikolaj finished half of it before throwing an arm around Patrik and saying, “dance with me, okay? Please? C’mon.” He dragged Patrik out to the dancefloor, and it felt the same as it did at all the bars, Nikolaj warm against him, Nikolaj’s tongue red from the wine, Nikolaj’s face fitting perfectly in the crook of Patrik’s neck.

Patrik held Nikolaj’s elbow and wasn’t sure if it was to steady Nikolaj or himself. Nikolaj had a couple more glasses of wine as they danced, and Patrik just held on tight, feeling like he was still on the slippery rocks, halfway to falling.

They said their goodbyes and Patrik called a cab. Nikolaj’s tie had made it all the way off his neck. He leaned against Patrik as they walked to the road.

“I could kiss you,” Nikolaj said, unprompted, looking up at Patrik. Patrik flushed.

“Okay, Fly,” he said. He patted Nikolaj’s arm. “Drink some of your water or you’ll feel like shit tomorrow.”

Back at the hotel, they stripped (in the least sexual way possible) and sat in the sauna, just like Patrik promised. It wasn’t as hot as a Finnish sauna, but nothing really compared to a Finnish sauna. Patrik sank back into the bench and felt the tightness slip out of his muscles.

Nikolaj was being twitchy beside him, not relaxing like he should have been. Patrik could feel the antsy energy coming from him, and it was honestly kind of harshing his vibe.

He reached over and grabbed Nikolaj’s wrist, only opening a single eye.

“Stop thinking,” he said. “Just, ah—” he lost the English words he was looking for. He ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth, and he couldn’t think of exactly what he wanted. “—exist, okay?” and it wasn’t perfectly what he meant, but Nikolaj would understand.

That night, Patrik slept facing away from Nikolaj. Nikolaj still faced the window, so their backs were pressed together when Patrik woke up in the morning. It was raining, and he timed his breathing to the rhythm of the drops against the window. He laid still for a long time, thinking about going back to Turku and seeing Mikko again, and wishing for September to hurry up and come so he could go back to Winnipeg.

With their backs together, Patrik could feel Nikolaj’s breathing pattern change, from a steady sleeping pattern to a shallower awake one. “Patrik, are you awake?” he asked, voice quiet.

“Yeah?” Patrik’s voice was stuck in his throat groggily.

“I think, uh.” Nikolaj paused. Patrik held his breath, and he could feel Nikolaj’s quicken. The only sound was the rain against the window. It calmed Patrik. He had always liked rain; under it, nothing burned. “Nevermind,” Nikolaj said.

Patrik’s muscles tensed. He wished Nikolaj wouldn’t let it go unsaid. Whatever it was, he wanted it to flow out like the rain. Nikolaj was the ocean with its deep secrets, like something Patrik could never fully fathom.

The rest of the summer sped by from there. He went back to Turku, back to Mikko. Mikko jumped on top of Patrik on the loveseat and said, “hey, this isn’t gonna be weird now, right?” Patrik laughed and tried to push Mikko off him because he couldn’t _breathe_ and replied, “no, I don’t think so,” and that was that. Mikko was still Mikko, huge and goofy and dog-like, and nothing could ever really be weird with him.

At the end of July, Patrik’s cousin visited, one of his many pit-stops as he traveled across the continent. He slept on the loveseat, ate with Patrik and Mikko, and made it his mission to chirp Patrik as much as physically possible.

“You’re never gonna grow out of that baby face, you know,” he said over dinner, making Mikko laugh and Patrik roll his eyes.

“Shut up. I’m an adult now.” Patrik got up to clear the dishes. “And I’m making more money than you, so.”

“ _Adult_?! Ha, okay. You can’t even grow real facial hair besides that creepy little blonde mustache!”

And there it was: challenge, meet Patrik Laine. He’d dive in headfirst, even if it was ill-advised. _Especially_ when it was ill-advised.

“Yeah? A hundred bucks I grow a better beard than you,” Patrik said.

His cousin grinned. “I’ll take that bet. One season, grow it out until you come back home.”

“I’ll grow it ‘till June.”

That was the mindset, both in setting the bet and in leaving for training camp a few weeks later, stubble starting to grow out on his chin. Patrik loved Finland, but he was hoping not to go back until June. He was hoping to bring something with him when he returned.

He got his share of shit from the guys for the beard, but it didn’t matter. He could take a chirp and he could dish them out just as well, so when Andrew said, “holy shit, Patty, you look like the lumberjack from _Hoodwinked_ ,” Patrik just shrugged and said, “and you look like someone who should buy his own fucking apartment.” He didn’t know what _Hoodwinked_ was, anyway.

The mood in the room was good, better than ever. Patrik felt good going into preseason, even better with Nikolaj back on his line again, Nikolaj back in his life again. Things were just like they had been the previous season, the two of them attached at the hip, being stupid and getting yelled at.

Being around Nikolaj was as perfect as the pass during the preseason game against the Flames, Patrik’s saucer sailing all the way down the ice, landing directly onto Nikolaj’s tape. Patrik skated up ice and watched Nikolaj fly with it, skating the way only he could. Patrik grit his teeth as Nikolaj deked, shot, and was denied.

On the bench, Patrik smacked him. “Come _on_ , a pass like that and you couldn’t score? We would’ve been on the fucking highlight reel for a _month_!”

“Sorry, sorry, geez! Hop off my dick, man,” Nikolaj replied, shaking his head.

Patrik opened his mouth to retort, but sitting on the bench with Paul gnashing on his gum right behind them was probably not the best place to talk or think about hopping on or off Nikolaj’s dick. He flushed anyway.

No matter what he did, the crush didn’t go away. It didn’t really feel like it had been a year, but at the same time he felt like he’d known Nikolaj his whole life. Nikolaj knew when to pick him up on game day, and Nikolaj knew exactly how to adjust Patrik’s ties. He knew when to duck from controllers that were in danger of being thrown across hotel rooms.

Nikolaj was the water. On the ice, it was obvious; he found the seams and cracks no one else could. He skated fast and fluidly like water down a gutter during a winter storm in Winnipeg. This was the season when everything was gonna change. Patrik could feel it, like electricity in his gut.

They lost the first two games of the season in blowouts.

The next stop of the roadie was in Edmonton, and Patrik was feeling crabby as he untucked the hospital corners of his sheets and flopped down onto the hotel bed. He thought to call Jesse, who was in the minors, but who Patrik always thought about when they played Edmonton. There was nothing else to do before the game that night, so Patrik pulled up Jesse’s contact and called. Nobody cheered him up like Jesse, anyway.

“Hey, Pate.” Jesse picked up nearly immediately. “What’s up?”

“Just bored. We’re in Edmonton. I wish you were here too so we could hang.” Patrik rolled onto his back.

“Yeah, me too,” Jesse said, a little wistfully. “Sucks that the minor team is in California.”

“Mmm,” Patrik hummed. “Anyway, how’s it going? How have things been?”

Jesse started talking about life in the AHL and his frustrations with not playing. The conversation meandered from there, things that happened while training during the summer and stories from their families and friends.

“Mikko actually kissed me this summer,” Patrik said, in the middle of telling Jesse about his training in Turku. It was kind of funny; it already felt like a long time ago, like it happened to someone who wasn’t Patrik.

“No _way_ ,” Jesse gasped. “Are you getting all up on that? He’s got a hell of a body, man.”

Patrik laughed at Jesse’s description. “No. It was weird. I think the timing was just off.”

“Oh, right, right, you’ve got that Ehlers guy you’re in love with nowadays, I forgot about that.”

“Not in _love_ ,” Patrik corrected. “Just, you know, horribly and terribly hung up on.” Nikolaj was lying on the other bed, absorbed by his phone.

“You should just tell him. You’re kind of hard to read. I know _I_ probably wouldn’t have made the first move, back in Helsinki,” Jesse said, referring back to their own brief but very fun hook-up experience.

“Ugh. At least you were obvious about it. He’s, like, shifty.” Patrik flicked his eyes over to Nikolaj again, trying not to stare.

“Yeah, of course I was obvious. I was seventeen and horny as hell.” Patrik laughed again at that. It had been a long time since they’d hooked up, and it had become a joke between them. Something about big tournaments just made people wild. “But,” Jesse continued, “he might still be into you and just not want to be that obvious.”

“I dunno, Jesse.”

Jesse sighed. “Just promise me one thing, okay? If he asks about it, be honest. Can you at least do that?”

“ _Fine_ ,” Patrik said, grateful to get Jesse off his back about it. “Anyway, I should probably take my nap now.”

They said their farewells and Patrik hung up, tossing his phone to the side.

“Who was that?” Nikolaj asked from the other bed, not looking up from his phone.

“You know my friend Jesse? Puljujärvi?” Patrik asked.

“Oh, yeah. World Juniors buddy, right?” Patrik nodded. “He’s on the Oilers, right?”

“Yes, sort of,” he said. “He’s playing on the farm team. This summer we made plans to hang out in Edmonton while I was here, but they sent him to Bakersfield which, apparently, is in _California_ , so.” He shrugged. He wasn’t too worried about Jesse. He had a lot of talent.

“Oh. Sorry, man. That sucks.” Nikolaj sat up on the bed.

“Eh, it’s okay,” Patrik said. “He’ll be ready eventually. I think he was having trouble with the whole ‘different-continent’ thing. Also, his English is way worse than mine, so that doesn’t help.” Patrik laughed.

“That’s cold, man, chirping the guy when he’s not here to defend himself.” Nikolaj tutted in faux disapproval.

“He’ll survive,” Patrik deadpanned. “Media just thinks it’s cute. Funny guy, cute accent, talks like a toddler; who wouldn’t love him?” Patrik smiled as he spoke. Jesse was a good friend, a fun guy to be around.

Nikolaj flipped onto his stomach, and proceeded to say something Patrik did _not_ expect. “Aww, he’s your crush on ‘someone from home’, isn’t he?”

Patrik failed to speak as his brain rapidly tried to process the situation. He hadn’t realized that Nikolaj remembered the thing he said about his crush months ago, back in January when they were in Florida. “No! What?! Shut the fuck up, Fly,” he managed, squirming.

Nikolaj cackled. “Oh, I’m so right!” Patrik kept denying it, his stomach flipping, thinking about how he had _just_ promised Jesse that he’d tell Nikolaj if it came up. This was some sort of cruel irony. “Don’t worry bud. I’ll ever cover for you when we’re on our California roadie so you can go have, like, a lover’s tryst, or whatever,” Nikolaj continued. Patrik didn’t even know what a tryst _was_.

“A lover’s _wha_ —actually, no, I don’t want to know. Jesse and I, we’re not, or, well, we hooked up a few times at World Juniors, but—”

“Oh shit,” Nikolaj interrupted, “you hooked up at World Juni—”

“It was only a couple of times!” Patrik said, reddening. “It was stupid. Besides,” he continued, thinking about whether he really wanted to do this, whether he really wanted to put his closest friendship at risk. His flush spread, and he worked up the courage to speak again. “Jesse couldn’t be my crush from home. Winnipeg is home now.”

Fuck. He really said it.

“You never go out; who have you even _met_ in Winnipeg?” Nikolaj asked. Patrik stared at him, open-mouthed. He still couldn’t figure it out?

“Fly, you are a fucking idiot,” Patrik said, dropping his face into his hands. He smiled into his palms; he couldn’t feel nervous now, not after that. He lifted his chin up and looked directly at him. “It’s you! I’ve liked you since, God, since I got here.” There was an immediate crash of relief as he spoke. One year of silently pining, and he could finally say how he felt.

“Oh,” Nikolaj said, and that relief crumpled into fear in Patrik’s gut.

“I’m sorry if it’s weird, or if you want me to room with Copper or someone else now, but you’re the one who asked, so it’s kind of _your_ fault for making it wei—”

“You dumbass, shut up and kiss me already.” Nikolaj clambered over to Patrik’s bed, planted his hands on Patrik’s shoulders, and kissed him, solid and sure.

Patrik was paralyzed with surprise for a millisecond, but the horny teenager brain kicked in fast, and he kissed back hungrily, touching Nikolaj everywhere, his torso and thighs and that perfect spot at the nape of his neck where his hair was buzzed close to his skin. Nikolaj took the hem of Patrik’s sweater in his hands as he kissed him, his breath hot in Patrik’s mouth.

They were at the edge of Patrik’s bed, and he was so out of his head that he was sure they were going to tip over. He anchored himself, holding Nikolaj’s narrow hips as they kissed. Patrik’s heart was racing; he held onto the sensation, hoping it wouldn’t be fleeting. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he got to experience this pleasure, but only once.

Nikolaj took charge, pushing him onto his back and crawling over him, eyes dark with lust. When he pulled up the hem of Patrik’s sweatshirt and asked, “can I take this off you?”, Patrik could only whine and nod furiously, heat spreading everywhere. Nikolaj was touching him everywhere, and Patrik was more turned on than he thought was possible. Nikolaj stuck a leg between his and Patrik rut against it, grinding on him for the pressure, the pleasure he was desperate for.

Nikolaj went for his waistband, and Patrik pinched himself, making absolutely sure that this was real and this was _happening_ and it wasn’t just another elaborate fantasy. In all honesty, his only experience in real life and not in his imagination were sloppy handjobs with Jesse in Helsinki and a few times in Buffalo, so he was fully _not_ prepared when Nikolaj wrapped his lips around the head of his dick.

“Holy fucking shit,” Patrik said, before following it up with a string of nonsensical curses. The sensation was all new, all wet and hot and obscene, Nikolaj’s mouth stretched around him and eyes looking up at him through blonde lashes. Nikolaj worked his mouth around the head and his hand around the base in practiced motion, clearly knowing what he was doing. Patrik jerked forward, but Nikolaj held his hips down, his thumb pressing on the jut of the bone.

He knew he wasn’t going to last long, on the novelty of the sensation alone. Then Nikolaj did something, like sucking in his cheeks maybe, that made everything tighter, and Patrik reached down and grabbed at the strands of his hair that were long enough, holding on tight and feeling himself get closer and closer.

“Fuh-uh-Fly, I’m gonna.” He shuddered, and his core tensed. When he came in Nikolaj’s mouth, it felt like waves were crashing down around him, like the room was flooding.

Nikolaj crawled up and kissed him, tasting like jizz, and it was fucking _awesome_.

“Don’t call me my team nickname when I’m blowing you, asshole,” Nikolaj said.

Patrik scoffed. “Shut up, _Nikolaj_ ,” he said, and it felt good to say. It felt special, secret, even. “Let me jerk you off.” He pushed Nikolaj’s sweatpants down and pulled out his hard dick.

“Jesse and I, we never,” he said, feeling embarrassed and inexperienced, but only a little, “with our mouths, just, uh, just like this.” He twisted his wrist, and Nikolaj didn’t seem to have any complaints, because he just grabbed Patrik’s shoulder and gasped before leaning in to kiss his neck.

Their bodies were bent together, sharing the same space, and it was surreal. “God, fuck, Nikolaj, you’re so hot,” Patrik said, mental filter out the window, “I’ve wanted this for so long, you wouldn’t believe, spending too long in the shower in hotels jerking off with you right there, or in the bathroom with the sink on so my mom wouldn’t hear.” Patrik spoke without thinking, and it probably wasn’t too sexy, but it was true, and he wanted to share it all with Nikolaj, all the terrible and beautiful months he spent pining after him. He jerked him off fast, all sense of self-control gone, instead intent on hearing the tiny noises of pleasure Nikolaj was making.

He touched him, his stomach and his spine and the nape of his neck, and Nikolaj came in his hand. They both fell backward onto the bed. Patrik turned and looked at Nikolaj, feeling water wash over him. It was gonna be a good year.

And starting then, it was. Nikolaj was on fire against Edmonton, getting every puck, dodging every player, scoring again and again and a third time for good measure. Patrik smirked at him when he came around for his final round of his fist bumps.

On the plane to Vancouver, Patrik felt like he was swimming, moving in slow motion while waves passed over him. There was a calmness to it, a peace he hadn’t known before. The tides carried him to their hotel room, and he flopped down on top of Nikolaj, pressing his nose into his neck and exhaling.

“You’re heavy, holy fuck,” Nikolaj groaned, pushing at him. Patrik rolled off and looked sidewards back at him.

“Y’know,” he said, cheekily, “you might just have to start sucking my dick before every game if you’re gonna go score a hat trick afterward.”

“I could teach you how it’s done, and get you a few goals too,” Nikolaj responded coolly.

“Okay, yeah, sounds good.” There was no part of what Nikolaj said that Patrik was opposed to. Sex, hockey, and video games? That sounded like a perfect life.

Nikolaj laughed and kissed him. They rolled over on the bed, giggling into each other’s mouths, discarding their shoes and suit jackets. Patrik cradled Nikolaj’s head in his hand, brushing his thumb over the stubble on his chin.

“CoD?” Patrik asked between kisses.

“You’re on.”

They played a while, tangled in one another, but their hearts weren’t in it. Patrik felt like the Swedish rain, pouring down all around him, soaking him to his bone. His avatar died, and he dropped his controller, not focusing on the game but instead on Nikolaj’s warm body pressed against his own.

“Ever since this morning, I’ve felt like…” Patrik trailed off. He couldn’t explain it, the flood.

“Show me,” Nikolaj said.

Patrik wrapped his fingers around Nikolaj’s wrist, and suddenly there was a clap of thunder and a strike of lightning in Patrik’s vision. But now the electricity didn’t scare him, not with the rain flooding every corner of uncertainty. Something slid into place; Patrik exhaled in relief.

“Oh,” Nikolaj said. The screen of the TV blinked in the background, and they ignored the pulses of soft light beckoning them to play again. “Me too.” Nikolaj looked up at him, almost shyly, the apples of his cheeks and his lips pink.

Patrik turned back to the game. The details dissolved, until it was just them, safe and distant from the rest of the world.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!
> 
> you can find me on tumblr or twitter @ raregoose on both platforms! My tumblr has a tag dedicated to nik and patrik if you are curious, it is /tagged/nordic bffs :D
> 
> p.s. fun fact, patrik really did have a poster of ovi on his wall growing up, which you can see in pictures in [this article](https://www.aamulehti.fi/a/200803252)!


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